Incorporeal Comfort
by JoieWilder
Summary: Kind of a sequel to That One Time. It takes place during Angel Season 5 while Spike is still incorporeal. He's feeling depressed about his incorporeal state. Angel feels sympathy for him and that is his undoing.


**This is a little scene I thought of soon after I wrote That One Time. This is sort of a sequel, but it acts as a stand alone. I am planning on adding a second chapter after Spike is corporealized and who know what may come after that.**

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><p>It wasn't often that things were slow around here. There was always some demon, some monster, some "big bad", that my team and I had to handle. This was one of those rare days that there wasn't one. Oh, sure, there were some minor things that were going on; there always were. But nothing serious, although even serious is a term best used loosely.<p>

I was at my desk, catching up on paperwork. It was late and most of the Wolfram and Hart staff had gone home or were holed up in their offices. But not me. Nope, I was doing paperwork. And enjoying my Spike-free time.

My eye twitched at the thought of Spike. He'd been a thorn in my side ever since he arrived at the office as a ghost. And, as an added bonus, he was bound to the place. So I couldn't get rid of him. Not that he'd leave even if he could. Some times I wondered if he wouldn't just stick around to annoy the hell out of me. He certainly seemed to enjoy it that much.

"Oi, ponce."

With just two words, my peaceful night shattered. I sighed and rubbed my face. "What do you want, Spike?"

"Where is everyone?"

"Well, I don't know, Spike. It's late, everything's real quiet, and there's nobody around. Could it be that they've all gone home? Now make like them and get out of my office."

Spike looked at me and there was something in his eyes. If I didn't know him so well, I'd say it was loneliness. "And go where?"

I shrugged. "Anywhere. As long as it's not here."

Another strange emotion flashed in his eyes, but it happened to fast for me to identify. "Why should I? If I'm going to crash in someone's office, might as well crash here."

"We both know you can't 'crash' anywhere. You fall through all the furniture."

He glared at me. "Thanks for the reminder." He turned away from me to the window, face not quite as expressionless as he probably hoped.

I rubbed a hand over my face. I felt a little bad over my last remark. It was, after all, something of a low blow. Personally, I couldn't imagine not being able to feel anything at all. It had to be torture. Spike, as much as I hated the guy, didn't need me poking at that particular open wound. I sighed. I really, really didn't want to feel sorry for him, but a part of me couldn't help it. He'd given his life to close the Hellmouth and this was his reward? While the rest of me reminded myself that he should be thankful to be back at all, the sympathetic part wondered if it wouldn't have been better from Spike's point of view to be left dead. Was it truly better to be alive and be taunted by all the things he couldn't have?

"What do you think would happen," Spike asked softly, "if I fell through this window?" He stuck his hand through the glass and stared at it. "Would I pancake it on the pavement? Or would I just keep on falling straight through the earth?" He tapped his boot against the floor. "I don't fall through the floor." He leaned down and ran his hand through the floor, the appendage disappearing up to the wrist until he pulled his arm back and his hand reappeared. "But I can go through it. What's keeping me from falling through the earth? I can't feel anything. I can't feel..."

He trailed off and he sounded so lost that all the irritation I felt for him tonight evaporated. He was like a lost puppy right now. Even if he'd pissed on my bed a few hours ago, I'd hate myself if I spanked him now.

Spanked ... Just like that my train of thoughts jumped the tracks into dangerous territory. Visions of Spike swept over my mind. Memories. Spike, shirt on, pants ripped off, on his hands an knees. Fire light flickering on his skin, illuminating his expression, pleasure and pain. The smell and taste of blood. The slap of skin. Memories I had repressed and tried to forget.

I tried to lock them away again. Tried to put them back in their little box and shove it into a deep, dark corner of my mind. I might've succeeded if Spike hadn't noticed.

"You smell like sex all of a sudden, Angel." He turned, his maudlin thoughts forgotten, and walked away from the window. "Nobody in here but me."

I cleared my throat. "I was thinking about Buffy."

His eyes narrowed. "I think you're lying. I don't think you were thinking about the Slayer."

"It doesn't matter. I wasn't thinking about you."

"You usually lie better than this." He licked his lips slowly. "Maybe you want to get caught."

"I don't. Get out, Spike. Now."

His lips twitched. "Make me." My following growl didn't intimidate him; he just walked closer until he was standing beside me, making me turn my chair to look up at him. Damn him. "Were you thinking about that night, Angel?" His voice lowered. Low. Seductive. "Remembering how you overpowered me? Showed me who was boss? Fucked me on the floor with the corpses of our kills?"

Goddamn him. Yes, I remembered. Every second, every touch, every taste. I remembered and I was as hard as a rock from doing so. And the bastard knew it.

He smiled slowly. "Oh yeah, you remember. It was good, wasn't it? Too good. That's why we couldn't do it again."

My mouth suddenly had a mind of it's own. "I remember." The flood gates were open and couldn't be closed. "I remember the way you whimpered and begged for more."

Spike's eyes flashed. "I remember that too. Only one that's ever made me do that."

I itched to grab him. Kiss him hard. Fuck him until he screamed. But I couldn't. I couldn't touch him. Frustration had me growling and fisting my hands on the arms of my chair.

He sank to his knees in front of me. His hands hovered over my thighs, running up and down them, bare millimeters of air between them. He growled deeply and clenched his fists. "I want to touch you so fucking bad I hurt with it, Angel."

Fuck me, but I wanted it too. If I let myself admit it, I wanted to feel his hands on me. It was part of the reason I had always hated him.

"Touch yourself for me. Let me watch. Let me pretend."

I looked down at Spike. Really looked at him. His face was open; I could read anything I wanted about him. Lust, I expected to see, even the longing that I found there. What I didn't expect was the vulnerability and need. He desperately needed this right now, some semblance of contact with another person and it would wound him on an emotional level if I turned him down. But neither of those were why I would agree. I needed this too, for much the same reason. I kept myself aloof, for my own protection as much as everyone elses. Spike was safe. Especially incorporeal Spike.

Slowly, I reached up and unbuttoned my shirt. Spike's eyes widened in surprise; he hadn't realy expected me to agree. Smiling inwardly, I pulled the shirt off and laid it on my desk. Spike's hands reached up and ghosted over my chest. I put my hands under his, following his movements. His fingers circled my nipples; so did my own. He flicked his thumbs over them; I did too, making myself arch into our hands. His hands. His hands slid down, over my stomach, then one cupped the bulge in my jeans. My hand mimicked his, cupping and squeezing myself through the fabric. I moaned and rocked up into my hand.

"Feels good, yeah? Take it out, Angel."

I watched Spike's expression through half-lidded eyes as I did as he asked, opening my pants and taking my cock out. I stroked myself slowly, dragging my hand from the base to the tip. My eyes never left his face. Spike's face had always been an open book and right now was no different. He was rapt, watching me hungrily, and every ounce of that hunger was evident in his expression. It made me hotter, making precum leak from the tip of my cock.

"Christ, that's it, pet." Spike said hoarsely. "Faster."

I moaned softly, thrusting up into my hand as I stroked faster. My head fell back against the chair. I wasn't going to last, even if I cared enough to want to. "Fuck, Spike," I panted, focusing my attention on the head of my cock.

He growled. "Come for me."

That was it. I stiffened, moaning low then thrust into my hand once more as I orgasmed hard. Christ, but that had been way too good for just a hand job. And for something involving Spike.

Spike licked his lips slowly. "You owe me one after I've got my body back, you know."

I snorted and fixed my pants. "No. This isn't happening again."

He got up and started walking out of the room. "I remember saying that before." Then he walked right through the door.

I hate that bastard.

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><p><strong>I hope you enjoyed it. Remember: reviews make me happy!<strong>


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